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by H.C. Brown
Club Floggers Book 1
Blurb: When Nash Mage sees an innocent vanilla virgin in Floggers' charity auction , it's game on.
Excerpt:
Nash
leaned casually against the wrought iron railing beside the entrance to
The Floggers’ Club. With rising disgust, he watched the retreating back
of the disgruntled sub. His hand ached. He clenched and unclenched his
fingers, and then stared at the red mark across the palm, an indentation
from the flogger handle. Damn, he would have to remember to wear his
gloves next time. He lifted his chin and gazed at the sub limping away
in the distance. What is wrong with me?
Lately, no
one could keep his interest. He missed Damien. Fuck, the man had left
him cold, no note, no fucking reason. Nash sucked in a freezing breath.
He needed new blood. One with trusting eyes and that smooth, porcelain
skin that deserved to carry his marks.
Steam
billowed from the drains in the gutter, in spasmodic, white clouds. It
would be a white Christmas this year. The weather bureau forecast snow
for the entire holidays. Nash took the toothpick from his mouth and
flicked it into the road. Fuck, he needed a cigarette. Just one drag
would sooth the craziness. Hell, he prided himself on his control. Nash
snorted and turned to his friend. “His nose is out of joint because I
didn’t want to fuck the weasel.” He rubbed his hands together.” I hate
it when they beg for cock. If I’d had a smoke I’d have ground it out on
his balls.”
“Giving up
smoking is a bitch.” Rafe Connell pushed his hands into the pockets of
his leather jacket. He stared after the sub and grimaced. “And that bitch will be telling everyone you’re an edge player.”
With a
shrug, Nash stared at the gray piles of snow banked up at the curb. He
lifted his chin, met Rafe’s hazel eyes, and smiled. “I beat the crap out
of the little do-me queen. Bitch thought he could Dominate me—fat chance.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Maybe I am
taking it to the edge. I’m looking for the same thrill I got from
Damien. What I need is a sweet sub who appreciates my skill.” He sighed.
“I gave that whining bastard what he asked for and more, but no way was
I going to fuck him.”
“It
was consensual. That house sub wasn’t an innocent; he should have
expected a good flogging with your reputation.” Rafe slapped Nash on the
back. “It’s freezing out here. Come downstairs, and I’ll buy you a
drink.”
At the
bottom of the steps, the comforting scent of wax and leather, laced with
the enticing aroma of musky, male sweat, wafted over Nash. The owner of
the club, Rio Knight, met them at the VIP section of the polished
mahogany bar. Nash shrugged out of his long, leather coat and threw it
to a house sub. He met Rio’s disgruntled gaze. “I’m not banned again, am
I? Not when Rafe has just returned from overseas—we have some serious
ass to claim.”
“Four
house subs have fled in a week, Nash. At this rate, we’ll need to put
adds in the newspapers for replacements.” Rio balled his fists on his
hips. “I think it’s time you put a collar on your own sub.”
Nash took a
toothpick from a jar on the bar and pushed it between his lips. He
straightened his shoulders and glared at Rio. “Fuck, that’s worse than
getting married.
I’ll flog and fuck who I chose when I chose.”
“Sure.” Rio growled, turned, and strode away. Two seconds later, he was back in
Nash’s face. He glared. “But keep your hands off the subs for the auction.”
With
a grin, Nash met his gaze. Rio intimidated most members of Floggers but
not him or Rafe. “I hope you’ve got some pretty boys this year.” He
grimaced. “I’m getting bored with the ugly ass around here.”
“I
put a notice up in Handcuffs and Whips two weeks ago.” Rio gave him a
slow smile. “I’m looking for a new sub too. There’s a group giving us
the once over tonight.”
He turned to go. “Try not to spoil Christmas again this year.”
With
a sigh, Nash removed the toothpick and stabbed it into the ashtray. He
reached for the bottle of bourbon on the bar and poured himself a drink.
He threw it back and poured another. Yeah, yeah rave on.
He turned to speak to Rafe. His friend was staring at a delicious sub,
who was dancing slowly, obviously lost in a world of his own. He nudged
his friend. “Nice but unobtainable.”
“I’m working on it.” Rafe turned back to the bar. “Fresh meat at two o’clock.”
Nash
ran his gaze over the group of four men removing their coats in the
foyer. Three were definitely subs—cropped hair and wearing plenty of
metal. The group moved into the bar and paused as if undecided where to
go. Nash’s gaze slid over the fourth man—young, barely legal, with a
slight build—just the way he liked his subs. Brown hair with gold
highlights curled around a cherubic face. A long, gold earring hung from
one ear. Damn, the man had big, brown eyes and those long, Dominate me lashes. Nash whistled. “It must be Christmas. My sac’s full, and I just found Santa’s little helper.”
Turning
around, Nash leaned his elbows on the bar to get a better view. The
group moved to a table beside the dance floor. The sweet sub wore jeans
low on his hips. He snorted. To wear jeans in Floggers was almost
heresy. Two buttons undone at the fly showed the top of the man’s white
boxers and a flat, smooth, hairless stomach.
Nice. “The young one is mine.”
The
man’s black leather vest hung open to display an expanse of honey skin
pulled tight over muscle. As the newcomer moved, Nash caught sight of
his delicious, flat, bitable nipples. Nash groaned. His cock ached. I’ll fuck you till you scream.
The man had that smooth, silken, tanned skin that drove Nash crazy. He
wore no metal, no rings, nothing but the gold sparkling in his ear. The
sub glanced around furtively. An innocent. Nash’s mouth watered. “I think just I blew in my fucking pants.”
“Oh, that’s a sweet sub.” Rafe laughed. “You’ll break him in half.”
Contact H.C. by e-mail: hc.brown15@yahoo.com.au, at her website: http://www.hcbrown-author.com/, on her blog: http://www.hcbrownauthoroferoticromance.blogspot.com.au/, find her onTwitter: @HCBrownauthor, or join her fan group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/hcbrownfangroup/join.
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